


Knowledge and power

by Charlotte_McGonagall



Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Goblins, I love Izzet goblins ok?, I'll probably reference the Ravnica Cycle trilogy A LOT, Izzet League, Izzet goblins, Just Ravnica being the dystopian capitalist nightmare it is, Minor Character Death, Multi, Nothing that is not canonical though, Racism, Ravnica (Magic: The Gathering), Slavery, characters relationships and tags will be added as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29656941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlotte_McGonagall/pseuds/Charlotte_McGonagall
Summary: Life as an Izzet goblin is not easy, and Crixizix knows it far too well, but this isn't going to stop her from trying to have her voice heard and fighting for what she believes in. Even after the coming of the Nephilim and the disappearance of the Firemind, there's still work to be done in the Izzet. The time to make a change for the better has come.
Kudos: 1





	Knowledge and power

**Author's Note:**

> This story will mainly follow Crixizix (the Izzet goblin from The Ravnica Cycle) after the events of Guildpact and Dissension. I just love her so much and I feel she deserves more love and recognition as a character.  
> Basic knowledge of who she is and her role and story in the trilogy is probably - if not necessary - at least advisable to understand this fanfiction better. I'll try to provide explanations and notes when I think it's necessary, but I'll give basic knowledge of the canon events for granted, for the sake of not writing entire wiki pages worth of content in my notes (something I already have a tendency to do anyway).
> 
> I don't know how many people will be interested in a story about Crixizix and Izzet goblins, but I recently read the Ravnica cycle and I fell in love with her character, and I was sorry she never appeared again in the lore. So I wanted to tell her story myself. This is how I imagine her life went after her last canon appearance. I hope you enjoy it. I also noticed how much the treatment of Izzet goblins had changed from the first trilogy to the most recent storylines in Ravnica, and I though it could be an interesting subject.
> 
> This story is dedicated to my first readers and supporters: Federico - who introduced me to Magic - and Saki - who patiently listened to my ramblings about Ravnica so many times that she started playing magic herself.
> 
> Usual disclaimer: English is not my first language, so if you notice something off that I missed feel free to tell me.

> _Hush child, and don’t cry,  
>  _ _Lest you disturb the Firemind.  
>  _ _Sleep tight, deep in the night,  
>  _ _Let the machines be your lullaby.  
>  _ _If I can’t be here to sing,  
>  _ _The song of the Izzet will sing you to sleep_
> 
> —Traditional Izzet goblin lullaby

14 Quaegar 9999 Z.C.

Like the majority of Izzet facilities, Nivix was never really silent. Even at times of low activity, someone was always working somewhere; and even if they weren’t, the machines were, so the very structure of the Izzet Guildhall seemed to perpetually hum with power, and one could always hear something creaking, fizzling, bubbling or popping in the distance. To visitors and newcomers, it was unnerving, but, to those who had spent enough time in the guild, the constant racket faded into background noise, an ever-present harmony to which they paid no more attention than one would pay to their own heartbeat or breathing. Luravix — like his ancestors for the past ten millennia — was born in the Izzet, so to him — and to the goblin child holding his hand — the place sounded almost eerily quiet.

As anticipated, no one would be in the observospheres hangars, since no experiments — and thus no observations — were scheduled until dawn.   
The place was a large floating mizzium platform connected to the eighth level of Nivix, flanked by a few huge stables housing the zeppelids, and several smaller warehouses storing the ‘spheres themselves. The child looked around, awed and intimidated at the same time, as Luravix led her into one of the latter.

“There she is,” he said, pointing at one observosphere with deep pride, “the Dragonfly 2246”.  
The small child let out an excited squeal. In her short life, she’d never even left the workers’ barracks in which she was born, on the ground floor of Nivix, and ‘spheres were just one of the many wonders she’d heard about in her grandfather’s stories — and her father’s while he was still alive. To be finally able to see one up close — and after walking through so many levels of Nivix nonetheless — was the most exciting thing to have ever happened to her.  
“How fast can it go?” she asked, her young mind burning with a thousand questions. “Is it really all made of mizzium? What does it look like on the inside? Is it scary to fly up there?”.  
Luravix chuckled at his granddaughter. “It’s not scary at all,” he said. “It’s a privilege, the most beautiful experience a goblin can dream of! And, yes, this beauty’s outer shell is pure mizzium and invizomizzium. And the flame-pods too; they used to be mizzium alloy, but they switched to pure mizzium after they realised the pyromana overheating could melt them. And it’s very fast, it can go faster than the speed of sound”. The young girl stared wide-eyed and the older goblin smiled. “As for the interior,” he added with a smirk, as he opened the door to the small vehicle, “well, why don’t you see for yourself?”.

The little girl could barely contain herself at this point and was jumping excitedly, her red pigtails and blue ribbons comically bouncing with every movement. “Can I really go inside, grandpa?”.  
“Of course you can,” he replied, as he picked her up and placed her inside before climbing in after her. “Happy birthday, Crix.”

“How do you fly it?” she asked, ready to start a new set of questions. “What does this do? How do you make the offering?”.  
“Slow down, little one,” said Luravix, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll show you and I’ll explain everything, if you’re patient”.  
“Sorry,” she mumbled in embarrassment.  
“Don’t be,” he replied. “Curiosity is good, the Izzet value curiosity and understanding, it’s in your blood”.

He sat in the pilot chair and placed Crix on his knees, then he fastened the leather seat belts over them, so that they were both safely strapped.

“Now,” he began, “first things first, we place the ignition offering”. He fiddled with a leather pouch on his belt and produced a pinch of each of three powders. As he poured each one into the brazier, he made a point to name them and make sure Crix could see them: “Sulfur” — a fine, yellow powder — “charcoal” — a black powder that left dark stains on his fingers — “and saltpetre” — a white substance similar to kitchen salt, which seemed to make for at least three quarters of the mixture. “For the glory of the Firemind,” he said, once each component was in place, “ignite!”.  
A sudden, bright flame erupted from the brazier, accompanied by a puff of smoke that made Crix sneeze, and with it the Dragonfly came to life, with a low hum and a flicker of lights. Crix gasped.

“This,” Luravix said, pointing at the glowing, water-like surface in the control panel, “is the scrying pool. It records images and data from the flight. Normally, I’d flip this switch here,” he gestured at a small silver lever nearby, “to activate the recording ribbon”.

“And this,” he pulled a lever and turned a knob, “is how we fly”.  
Crix squealed as the vehicle started rising in the air.  
Normally, the ‘sphere would have been already in the open air, strapped to the belly of a zeppelid, thus avoiding the need to carefully manoeuvre the Dragonfly within the enclosed and relatively small space of the hangar. However, Luravix hadn’t reached the age of thirty-four by being a sloppy pilot, and after a few seconds they were flying away from Nivix, into the skies of Ravnica.

The weather had been kind that afternoon, forgoing the frequent rains of Ravnican autumn in favour of a cold wind that kept the sky mostly clear, while the few clouds present were starting to turn golden and pink in the sunset’s warm light. An orange glow spread over the Tenth District, as the shadows of the many towers and spires extended accordingly, as if the city itself were stretching like a sleepy cat.

As an observer, Luravix was well-travelled for the average goblin, but the Tenth District at sunset was still his favourite view in the whole world. From up there, and in this light, everything looked peaceful and quiet, as Ravnica offered itself in a spectacle of undisturbed beauty and majesty. From that distance, it was easier to see the city for what it was meant to be — for what it promised to be, for what it _could_ be — rather than what it actually was or had become. It was impossible not to feel small under the weight of almost ten thousand years of history, and not to feel ridiculously proud for being part of it. Luravix wouldn’t have been able to put it into words, but that was what he was feeling nonetheless.

On the other hand, Crix’s young mind, it seemed, had very little room for much more than pure awe. Her eyes darted in every direction, eager to take in each detail, breath catching in her throat, temporarily speechless.

“It’s so much prettier than the pictures,” she breathed at last.  
“It is,” he agreed, “welcome to the City of Ravnica”. And indeed, despite being born in it, it was the first time Crix really acknowledged she was more than an Izzet goblin: she was a citizen of the City of Guilds, part of this majestic and vibrant world that was so much bigger than she had imagined.

Luravix turned the ‘sphere around, so that she could see each landmark: the lush foliage of Vitu-Ghazi, the austere domes of Prahv, the imposing spires and stained glasses of Orzhova, the outlandish impossibility of Novijen, the busy hustle of Tin Street market…  
Then they turned back to face Nivix and they both felt a surge of pride. Each structure and guildhall in Ravnica strived to make an assessment — be it of power, strength, wealth, superiority or a combination of those — but the Izzet guildhall was truly something else: it was _defiant_ , a tall and majestic tangle of towers, platforms and bridges, which seemed to have grown almost of their own volition, like branches and knots of an old, artificial tree, with no apparent concern for decorum, regulations or gravity.

“Can you tell me the story of the power sigil, grandpa?” she asked suddenly, as if inspired by the view. Luravix chuckled; it made sense, after all, it was hard not to think of it while looking at the city from above.

“A long time ago, almost ten thousand years ago to be precise,” he began, reciting the traditional goblin legend almost by heart, “the Guildpact was forged, but the ten guilds still needed a place from which to operate. So the Firemind, in his wisdom, set the first magewrights to work, to create the most beautiful city ever built, a gift to the citizens of this world and a testament of his goodwill towards the other guilds. Yet, the Firemind was also cunning and farsighted, so he designed the new city with a personal purpose in mind: the very shape of the streets was carefully planned to form a sigil of immense magical power. In due time, the sigil would activate and give the Izzet dominion over the other guilds. No one suspected a thing, not even the ever-watchful Azorius or the righteous Boros,” he paused for dramatic effect.

“Well, no one except for an ingenious tribe of goblin workers, to which no one paid much attention. They recognised the sigil for what it was, and decided to play the ultimate prank on the magewrights and the Firemind. So, unknown to the Izzet, they started to subtly tamper with blueprints and constructions. When the magewrights realised what had happened, it was too late: the sigil was lost. Niv-Mizzet was furious with his guild, and demanded to know who was responsible. Eager to appease his ire, the magewrights brought the goblins to him, expecting the great dragon to devour them. Yet, the Firemind — as angry as he was — had been impressed by their wit and courage, for very few dared try to outsmart him, and even fewer succeeded, and such qualities could not go to waste. So, instead of immolating the tribe, he generously decided they and their descendants would put their brilliance and boldness in service of the Izzet League. And so we do to this day, serving the Firemind with pride and purpose, like our ancestors before us”.

Yes, Luravix thought, he served the Izzet with pride, he had for his whole life, there was never another guild in which he’d rather be, and yet at times the weight of his duty was heavier than usual. This was one of those times.

After a few seconds of such reflections, his thoughts were interrupted by Crix, who had begun a new set of questions about the ‘sphere’s commands. He gladly abandoned his musings and spent the next several minutes explaining to the little girl the function and basic working of each lever, button and handle in the vehicle.

As the shadows grew longer, he took in the view of the city under the setting sun one last time, before starting landing maneuvers. “We have to go back,” he said. “It’s getting late and I can’t use too much pyromana for an unauthorised flight”.  
Crix seemed about to protest, but, even this young, she knew her grandfather could be punished if Zomaj Hauc found out he had broken the rules. For a guild that generally despised boundaries and regulations, the Izzet League seemed to demand a great deal of discipline from its goblin workers.  
“Thanks, grandpa,” she said. “This was the best day of my life”.  
“My pleasure,” he said, smiling wide, as he flew back towards Nivix.

Luravix forced himself not to swear in front of his granddaughter as the landing platform drew closer and, with it, the figure of Chief Observer Vazozav, looking up towards them, arms crossed.  
He groaned as he carefully landed the Dragonfly 2246 back into position. As he helped Crix out of the ‘sphere, Chief Vazozav approached him. He wasn’t a particularly stern boss, but he was still one of the oldest and most respected goblins in the Observation Corps, and Luravix — despite being a sort of a Corps veteran himself — felt a surge of shame at being caught performing an unauthorised flight.

“Observer Luravix,” said Vazozav, with a hint of irritation, that turned into astonishment when he noticed Crix, “what are you doing exactly?”.  
“Sorry, chief,” he replied, with the decency to lower his gaze. “Thing is... my granddaughter... it’s her birthday, and I wanted to show her around a bit. I thought it couldn’t hurt to check the ‘sphere in the meantime, you know... _before tomorrow’s flight_...”.  
He dared look the older goblin in the eyes then, and Vazozav nodded, scratching his only remaining ear, Luravix’s unspoken sentence perfectly clear to him: _Tomorrow I’ll most likely die_.  
“Well, I suppose I _might_ have authorised a test flight in preparation for tomorrow,” Vazozav replied, with the briefest hint of a smile. “But, if anyone asks, _she_ ,” he added, pointing at Crix, “was never here, and, even if she were, _I_ never knew she was here”.  
“Of course not, chief,” said Luravix, daring a smirk, “that would be absurd and unprofessional”.  
“Now, don’t get too cocky,” he retorted, but he appeared more playful than annoyed. He looked at Crix, who was standing awkwardly by her grandfather’s side, then back at Luravix. “Since you’re here, can we have a word?”.  
Luravix nodded, picking up the subtext. “Crix,” he said, “I need to talk to chief Vazozav for a few minutes. In the meantime, if you go outside, you should be able to still see the sunset. It’s a pretty good view. Just be careful and don't go too far, ok?”. She frowned, but didn’t protest, leaving them alone in the hangar.

Vazozav’s gaze lingered in her direction. “Does she have any other family?” he asked.  
“Apart from me, no one,” Luravix replied.  
Vazozav nodded, like he almost expected that reply. It was not that uncommon, among Izzet goblins, to have lost your entire family very early in life. “Have you made any arrangements, in case tomorrow... you know... Not that you can’t make it, of course–”.  
“With all due respect, chief,” Luravix interrupted him, “spare me the sugarcoating. I’ve been in the Corps long enough to know my odds”.  
Vazozav sighed. “I’m sorry it had to be you, especially so short after...”.  
Luravix cut him off with a brisk nod of the head; death was something they were all accustomed to, something they had accepted and even embraced to a degree, but still no one wanted to outlive their children, and the death of his son — Crix’s father — was not something he wished to dwell on.  
“You were the most qualified for the job,” Vazozav continued, more matter-of-factly than apologetic.  
“I know,” said Luravix. “That’s the way it is. _Die trying_ , right?”.  
“ _Die trying_ ,” Vazozav repeated. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence, before he continued: “So, what will happen to her, after you’re gone?”.  
“The usual, I suppose: either someone takes her in or she’ll live with the other orphans, she wouldn’t be the first. She’s stronger than she looks, she’ll be alright in the end,” replied Luravix, sounding like he was talking more to himself than to the other goblin. “Why?”.  
“I heard the boss is looking for goblin children, for a new project,” Vazozav explained.  
The younger goblin eyed him suspiciously. “Are you suggesting my granddaughter as a test subject?”.  
“No, nothing of the sort! What kind of monster do you think I am?” Vazozav replied, offended. “I don’t know the details, but, from what I gathered, he’s looking for specialised servants, people he can educate and raise as he sees fit, to perform more delicate tasks: personal assistants, couriers, that sort of work. I just thought I’d let you know. She seems young enough”.

Luravix frowned. Attracting Zomaj Hauc’s interest — let alone his favour — was the ultimate privilege, but magelords’ favour was notoriously fickle, and catching their attention in the wrong moment could easily result in immolation. On the other hand, if Vazozav was telling the truth, it could be an almost unprecedented chance at a great career. Being an observer was an honoured work, but it was as honoured as it was dangerous; couriers, on the other hand, were some of the magelords’ most trusted and prized servants, and were legally protected by the Guildpact. Such protection, of course, did very little to shield them from their own magelords’ wrath, should they provoke it, but was enough to make almost anyone else on Ravnica think twice before harming them.

“It does sound like a great opportunity,” he said, thoughtfully.  
“That’s what I thought,” Vazozav agreed. “I saw her and I figured you needed to know. If you think she has the potential for it…”.  
“She has,” said Luravix with pride. “Hauc would be lucky to have her as an assistant”.  
Vazozav smirked, clearly convinced the younger goblin was exaggerating his granddaughter’s skills. “I could mention your situation to him,” he said, “if he’s in a good enough mood, at least”.  
Luravix’s face lit up. “Would you really do that?”.  
“I can try,” said Vazozav with a dismissive shrug.  
“Thank you,” said Luravix, suddenly feeling almost relieved, “really”.  
Vazozav shrugged again and moved to leave. “See you tomorrow, then”.  
“I could hardly forget,” joked Luravix, before stepping out into the fading light.

Crix was sitting in a corner, fiddling — as she often did when she was bored or lost in her thoughts — with the bam-stick mechanism her father had gifted to her before he died. A little piece of goblin craftwork that had survived the blast of an extremely powerful explosion — he had said, ever the sentimental — and thus, useless and damaged as it was, a token of goblin ingenuity and resilience.  
Luravix knew Crix had carried it in her pocket ever since, and regarded it as her most prized possession. As strong as she was, she had a sensitive side that worried him at times.

He took her hand, and together they walked back home.

***

Crix, who had untied her pigtails and pulled her hair back into a single ponytail, placed the spare blue ribbon on her bedside table, then climbed into bed. Her grandfather tucked her in and planted a kiss on her forehead.  
“Sleep well, little one,” he said. “I have to leave before dawn tomorrow, I’ll try not to wake you up”.  
She nodded and watched as he seemed to be debating whether to say something.

“Crix,” he said eventually, “can you promise me something?”. She nodded again. “In case anything happens to me,” he continued, “I want you to promise you’ll be a good girl and you’ll do what adults tell you, especially what Zomaj Hauc tells you”.

Crix didn’t immediately nod this time. She knew, obviously, like every goblin child, that eventually grown-ups left and didn’t come back, just like her parents. It was a fact of life. She had also learnt that they almost never directly said goodbye before leaving — it was bad luck, or so they said, or maybe it was just too hard to do. So they either pretended everything was fine or found indirect ways to say goodbye, like gifting their child a bam-stick mechanism they picked up during a mission, or bringing their granddaughter on a flight around the district.

She pulled herself into a sitting position and stared at her grandfather with her wide hazel eyes. She wanted to say something, but she feared she would start crying as soon as she opened her mouth.  
He took her hands in his. “I just want you to be safe,” he said. “Do you understand?”. She nodded again, then she pulled back, reached for the blue ribbon on the bedside table and handed it to her grandfather.  
Luravix took it and wrapped the fabric around his fingers with a deep smile. “For me?”, he asked. She gave an emphatic nod, still unable to find the strength to talk.  
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll always carry it with me”.

He pulled her into a hug and she held him tightly, choking back tears, trying to put on a brave face, like she was expected to do. Luravix rocked her tenderly in his arms. “Always remember you’re brilliant and strong, and you will do amazing things when you’re older.”

In that moment, Crix didn’t feel neither brilliant nor strong: she just felt very small and very afraid, but she knew there was no point in weeping and shouting and begging him to stay. This was the way things went, it was all for the good of the Izzet, it was their sacred duty, and she was completely powerless against it. This was how it was supposed to be.

She heard her grandfather gently sing a lullaby, until she gave in to exhaustion.

“Love you, grandpa,” she said, before she fell asleep.  
“Love you too, little one,” he replied.

***

Early the next morning — as the autumn dawn stretched its pale light over the City of Ravnica — the Dragonfly 2246 crash-landed into lake Favarial. The Izzet recovery team sent on the site was able to safely return to Nivix most of the data collected by the ‘sphere. The same could not be said of Observer Luravix; not that anyone particularly cared. Only Chief Vazozav did feel some form of guilt, but, for the sake of his sanity, he could not afford to dwell on the deaths of each observer he’d sent to their demise over the decades, so he mostly eased his conscience with the knowledge that at least the impact itself had mercifully killed Luravix before he could drown.

Luravix’s last thoughts — moments before his neck snapped and his life ended — went to Crix, peacefully sleeping in her bed. _Would she be safe?_ Vazozav had kept his promise and spoken to Zomaj Hauc and the magelord had sounded interested in Crix. _Would he take care of her like he said he would?_ He needed to believe it, he could not bring himself to think of the alternative.  
_Power is knowledge, and knowledge is costly_ : this was the motto Zomaj Hauc had taught to his colloquy since anyone could remember. Well, maybe his death was to be the cost for Crix’s future greatness.

He clutched the blue ribbon wrapped around his fingers, praying to whomever was listening that she would have a good life, that she wouldn’t die like this. Maybe his brilliant granddaughter could really achieve great things under the guide of Zomaj Hauc, or even — one last fanciful wish of his dying mind — on her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a couple of notes for context.  
> 1\. Most of the details in this chapter come from Guildpact, including the description and workings of Observospheres and the legend about the origin of Izzet goblins (even though I expanded that one from a couple of sentences into full story form).  
> 2\. As for Crix's family, she tells herself in the book that her grandfather took her flying once and that her father gifted her the bam-stick mechanism before dying. I don't even need to invent angst myself for this poor girl. Vazozav is also a canon character.  
> 3\. On a similar note, I want to make clear I did not exaggerate the condition of Izzet goblins in any form. This is all canon or at most the logical consequence of canon.  
> 4\. What I did create myself is Luravix's name and characterisation and the the lullaby extract at the beginning of the chapter. I will put similar "quotes" at the beginning of every chapter because they did it in The Ravnica Cycle and I loved it. I think it gives a lot of depth to the setting and context to the story.  
> 5\. Lake Favarial is a reference to the district of the same name. It’s a district built around and on a big lake and it appears in the novel Agents of artifice. Since I’m terrible at making up landmark names, I thought I’d use an existing one and I assumed the name of the district could come from the lake itself.  
> EDIT: 6. [I realise I should have probably explained this one first, but I’ve re-read certain passages of Guildpact so many times it didn’t occur to me that it’s probably not common knowledge.] The Observation Corps are a team of Izzet goblins tasked with recording footage and data of experiments, especially dangerous ones, in which case they are often the only ones on the site. They do so by flying to the site in small, spherical flying machines called (as you probably guessed already) observospheres. It is one of the most respected jobs for a goblin (hence why they usually have names with multiple syllables as a sign of rank), but it is extremely dangerous and observers have a ridiculously low life expectancy even for the standard of a goblin.
> 
> I hope you like the chapter. If you have more questions feel free to ask, and any feedback is welcome.  
> I'll leave you with [this fanart of Crixizix](https://charliecon-art.tumblr.com/post/638405612049465344/female-goblin-blue-robes-red-topknot-with-an) I made back in December. (Btw if you want to contact me outside of Ao3, feel free to pm me on tumblr, I don't post much but I do check notifications.)


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